


Love Is Gonna Lead You By The Hand

by templeg



Series: Hogwarts AU [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: I PROMISE I WILL GET BACK ON TRACK EVENTUALLY, I realise that this verse has been a bit E/R-light recently, Jehan and Combeferre have sneakily taken over and I don't know how, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeg/pseuds/templeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is awesome at Herbology. Grantaire is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Gonna Lead You By The Hand

             Grantaire doesn’t think he would last two minutes in Herbology without Jehan.

 

             It isn’t just that he’s bad at it. It’s that plants seem to actively dislike him, even the ones that are supposed to be harmless. In first year, he nearly lost an eye to a particularly vicious rose-bush. In second year, he was attacked by an irate Giggling Chrysanthemum. He doesn’t know what he’s done to the plant world to deserve such wrath.

             

           Grantaire reaches for a trowel without looking and something locks like a manacle around his wrist. He turns to see an innocent-looking stump that has somehow managed to swallow his hand.

             

           ‘ _Jehan!_ ’

             

           Professor Sprout looks up disapprovingly at the noise, but relaxes when she sees Grantaire’s predicament. Jehan, who had been deep in conversation with her, hurries over, pushing up the sleeves of his robes. Grantaire gives his hand an experimental tug. The inside of the stump is moist and not altogether pleasant. He flexes his fingers. There is a squelch and a truly ungodly smell.

            

          ‘Oh, Christ’, Grantaire chokes. Jehan bravely approaches the plant, scrunching his nose at the smell. ‘Jehan, what did I do to deserve this?’

            

          Jehan, unlike Grantaire, is excellent at Herbology. It’s partly because he has a grip of iron and a deft and deadly hand with the secateurs, and partly due to what Grantaire calls his Plant Whisperer tendencies. Much of his accidental magic as a child involved plants sprouting from odd places (dandelions between the floorboards, a carpet of crawling ivy under his pillow, and once a single daisy from the bottom of a teacup). They seem to love him just as much as they hate Grantaire.

 

         He bends over the stump, nimble fingers running over the knot of wood that holds Grantaire’s wrist, until his fingers clench hard on a particular knot. There is a moment of tension, and then the stump makes a noise like a creaky, defiant raspberry and loosens its grip. He pulls his hand free, dripping with some strange, putrid yellow liquid.

 

       ‘How do you _do_ that?’

 

       Jehan winks and taps the side of his nose, leaving a smudge of dirt. Grantaire wipes his hand on his robes and regrets it immediately. Two benches behind Jehan, Combeferre’s mouth hangs slightly open. He’s holding a gardening fork in his right hand that he seems to have forgotten about. Grantaire smirks at him and his ears go pink.

 

       ‘I think someone appreciated your little display of heroism.’

 

       ‘What?’ Jehan asks. He turns around and, catching Combeferre’s eye, gives him the full-blast Jehan smile. The pink spreads from his ears across the rest of his face.

 

       Grantaire rolls his eyes. ‘If you’re going to carry on like this, I may have to rescind my endorsement of your relationship. I got you together. Don’t think I can’t break you up.’

 

      ‘Please.’ Jehan busies himself with his shrub. Grantaire figures his own shrub is probably better off if he doesn’t go anywhere near it. ‘You really think he’s going to give up all this?’

 

      Professor Sprout, nose buried deep in some kind of fern, gives a squawk of excitement and waves at Jehan, who hastens to her side. Moments later, Combeferre sidles up to Grantaire.

 

      ‘So. Uh.’

 

      ‘Uh’, Grantaire agrees.

 

      ‘Can I ask you something?’ Combeferre fiddles with his glasses. ‘So, uh, Jehan. Does he…like me, do you think?’

 

      Grantaire seriously cannot believe this. He rests his forehead on the earth-strewn surface of the bench. ‘ _No.’_

      Combeferre looks taken aback, and more than a little hurt. ‘I- okay, I just-’

 

     ‘No, I mean- _no_ , I refuse to deal with this idiocy. Didn’t you spend half of Courfeyrac’s party making out? Was that not an adequate indicator of his feelings? Do you just _enjoy_ pining? Because as someone who spent the better part of two years pining after someone, I can tell you that it is not worth it.’ Combeferre looks at him, confused and a little concerned. ‘Yes, he likes you, though given that you appear to have the cognitive powers of a drugged-up sloth I fail to see why.’

 

    Combeferre has the decency to look a little sheepish. ‘Well, yes, but he kisses a lot of people. He’s kissed you on multiple occasions.’

 

    ‘Point. However, there is a difference between a drunken snog and-’

 

    Combeferre raises one eyebrow. ‘A drunken snog?’

 

    ‘You know what I mean. He’s never kissed me like _that_. Well. Anyway, besides the point. He’s fancied you for weeks, you twerp.’

 

    ‘Right.’ The corner of Combeferre’s mouth twitches. ‘So-’

 

    ‘If you say ‘uh’ one more time’, Grantaire warns,  ‘I am going to shove your head into that tree stump.’

 

    ‘I- right.’ Combeferre opens and then closes his mouth. ‘So I should…ask him out, then?’

 

    ‘Please. Before I weep like a child.’

 

*****

 

            Combeferre appears seemingly from nowhere at Jehan’s side as they’re walking across the lawn back to the castle. Grantaire veers subtly away, although not far enough away that he can’t keep an eye on them. He is separated from them moments later by a group of Hufflepuffs and fights to get back into earshot without missing too much of their conversation.

 

            ‘-if you, I don’t know, want to go to Hogsmeade-’

 

           Jehan smiles winningly up at Combeferre. _Poor bloke_ , thinks Grantaire. _He never stood a chance._ ‘Is there anywhere else to go?’

 

          Combeferre looks momentarily crestfallen. ‘I mean- we could always-’

 

           Jehan slips his hand into Combeferre’s. Combeferre stares down at their clasped hands like a man regarding a winning lottery ticket. ‘Hogsmeade would be lovely.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Love Love Love by the Mountain Goats. (Whoops, I broke my streak of canon titles. THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY LINES IN LES MIS, YOU GUYS. Unless I start calling them things like 'This Handful Of Tin Wouldn't Buy My Sweat', or 'Tell The Young Man She Will Read It Tomorrow, And Here's For Your Pains.')


End file.
